ou won't make him go, Clay?" she begged.
"You--you'll let him make his own decision?"

"If you will."

"What do you mean?"

"If you'll keep your hands off, too. We're not in it, yet. God knows I
hope we won't be. But if I promise not to influence him, you must do the
same thing."

"I haven't any more influence over Graham than that," she said, and
snapped her finger. But she did not look at him.

"Promise," he said, steadily.

"Oh, all right." Her voice and face were sulky. She looked much as
Graham had that evening at the table.

"Is that a promise?"

"Good heavens, do you want me to swear to it?"

"I want you to play fair. That's all."

She leaned back again among her pillows and gathered her papers.

"All right," she said, indifferently. "Have you any preference as to
color for your rooms in the new house?"

He was sorry for his anger, and after all, these things which seemed so
unimportant to him were the things that made up her life. He smiled.

"You might match my eyes. I'm not sure what color they are. Perhaps you
know."

But she had not forgiven him.

"I've never noticed," she replied. And, small bundle of samples in her
hand, resumed her reading and her inspection of textiles.

"Good night, Natalie."

"Good night." She did not look up.

Outside his wife's door he hesitated. Then he crossed and without
knocking entered Graham's bedroom. The boy was lounging in a long chair
by an open fire. He was in his dressing gown and slippers, and an empty
whiskey-and-soda glass stood beside him on a small stand. Graham was
sound asleep. Clayton touched him on the shoulder, but he slept on, his
head to one side, his breathing slow and heavy. It required some little
effort to waken him.

"Graham!" said Clayton sharply.

"Yes." He stirred, but did not open his eyes.

"Graham! Wake up, boy."

Graham sat up suddenly and looked at him. The whites of his eyes were
red, but he had slept off the dinner wine. He was quite himself.

"Better get to bed," his father suggested. "I'll want you early
to-morrow."

"What time, sir?"

He leaned forward and pressed a button beside the mantel-piece.

"What are you doing that for?"

"Ice water. Awfully thirsty."

"The servants have gone to bed. Go down and get it yourself."

Graham looked up at the tone. At his father's eyes, he looked away.

"Sorry, sir," he said. "Must have had too much champagne. Wasn't much
else to do, was there? Mother's parties--my